


Wine Country

by alienexe



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (also takes place around same time as the pazzi conspiracy), M/M, also drunk flirting, anyway, aziraphale gets jealous and crowley purposefully pulls on his feathers, lots of bad flirting here, you guys should have seen my face light up when i saw that crowley/leo is already a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-30 22:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19413145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienexe/pseuds/alienexe
Summary: Crowley already had to be in Renaissance Italy to push the demonic agenda, he may as well treat himself to a picnic with one of its most renowned figures.





	Wine Country

**Author's Note:**

> hello. this is a 100% self-indulgent fic based on a conversation with [@CharCubed](https://twitter.com/CharCubed) on twitter based on [this](https://twitter.com/culmetisms/status/1139967073516478464) tumblr post.  
> working title: da vinci shenanigans.  
> p.s.: pazzi conspiracy happens 1 week before this fic. crowley just can't remember dates. (time flies when you're nearly 5500 years old)

To Crowley, the charm of human cities was that they were at the core of human behavior. No matter where you put them and no matter how reserved, more often than not, they would flock to a central location. A typical herding instinct, but one so ingrained that they don’t even notice it. And the dense population meant both the best and the worst parts of humanity flocked there. For every pristine, postcard-worthy high street there was a back alley full of dirt and grime. The latter was exactly the kind of place one would expect a demon to hang about, which is why Crowley spent his time on the other side. He wanted a break from all the doom and gloom. And besides, today he had arranged for himself a little treat: an afternoon with one of the Renaissance’s most recognizable figures.

He adjusted first his shirt collar, then his dark-lensed glasses before he walked down the brick road. He took a moment to admire the architecture on either side of him. In a few hundred years time, humans would kill their afternoons clambering along these rooftops in the virtual setting of a video game, and he briefly considered the idea of doing so himself while he had the chance. On the way home, he promised himself. Just to raise a little hell.

It took Crowley a moment to find the correct house. The rows and rows and rows of brick houses with clay-plated roofs all had a tendency to blend together after so long. But eventually he did find it...through some process of elimination by way of knocking on a few doors. He was relieved when he finally found the right face: a nice man with long brown hair. He was an adult, but still youthful in appearance, and he was well-kept. He wore nice silk clothing as well, the kind that told anyone who passed that there was some weight in those pockets.

“Oh, Anthony!”

“Leo!” Crowley smiled. He leaned in and gave a kiss on each cheek, as he had heard was the customary greeting in these parts. His enthusiasm was returned, so when he pulled away he was shocked to see his new friend balking at him, almost awestruck.

“Just Leonardo is fine.” Was that a hint of flush Crowley saw?

“Ah, yes, sir!” He fumbled around in his mind for his limited Italian vocabulary. “Signore.” He gave a small bow, just to up the embarrassment factor. There was no point if he didn’t have any fun with it.

Leonardo gestured him inside, and he followed. “Just a moment,” he was told, “I need to gather some things.”

Crowley nodded and watched him scramble off. He couldn’t help but grin to himself. Here he was, about to go to lunch with Leonardo da Vinci himself. Suck on that, Hastur.

A few minutes of rummaging about and Leonardo returned, basket in one hand and sketchbook tucked under his opposite arm. “All set?” Crowley asked him, and he nodded.

For just a brief moment, Crowley forgot about the fact that humans don’t possess the ability to teleport. For another, he had to resist the urge to hook Leonardo’s arm in his and parade him around town. In reality, it would be Leonardo parading  _ him _ around; no one around here knew Crowley. He didn’t mind, though. It wasn’t like he was going to be staying anyway. His foot caught on one of the road’s cobblestone bricks, and he was jolted out of his daydream. “There’s a lovely spot a couple miles down the road,” da Vinci said, and Crowley’s stomach sank when he realized what that meant.

Horses.

And sure enough they were on a direct course for the stables.

Crowley looked around the crowds and sighed in defeat. Not a carriage in sight.

“Waiting for somebody?” Leonardo shouted. He had already mounted a horse, a beautifully lean bay stallion, basket now hanging on his arm so that he had his hands to hold the reins. Crowley shook his head, and he jerked his own in a gesture that said, “Let’s get a move on, then.”

Crowley accepted his fate and mounted the painted mare. She shifted unsteadily beneath him, as if she knew he was in the process of wracking his brain for  _ How To Ride a Horse _ . Eventually, he did find his balance.

The ride itself was uneventful. The weather was fair, warm sunshine and white fluffy clouds. Local wildlife occasionally dotted the grass along the road, and even more livestock dominated a few fenced off pastures once they were out of the city. They didn’t speak, Crowley followed from behind rather than riding side-by-side, and it was a good thing he did because suddenly Leonardo broke off the road without warning. Crowley followed suit and broke into a canter to catch up until he saw where they were headed: a small hill with an olive tree on top.

They dismounted their horses and Leonardo opened up the basket. Crowley pondered for a moment about whether or not picnic blankets were commonplace yet, and caught himself wishing Aziraphale were there to miracle one up for him. He tried to push the thought from his mind. He was still slightly bitter that Aziraphale denied his invitation - something about having a coup to thwart at the cathedral, but  _ that _ was just down the road anyway. Or was the coup last week?

“Anthony,” Leonardo said in a sing-song voice. He was holding out a glass of red wine.

Crowley received it graciously. “Ah, grazie!” They toasted and each took a sip. It was a touch sweeter that Crowley liked it, but he wasn’t about to turn down fresh wine on the mountainside with one of Tuscany’s finest.

Da Vinci had already been passively sketching in his book for a bit before Crowley noticed. He tried to peek at it, but the angle of the sun in the sky cast shadows across the page. However, the sunlight through the leaves dappled Leonardo’s hair in a flattering manner close enough to artwork to sate him for the time being.

“So, what brings you to the lovely city of Florence?” Leonardo asked him.

“Business,” Crowley drawled (the aforementioned attempted coup, and he’d be sure to take credit for the following execution as well). “But it’s all right. There’s also the art, the wine, the culture.” He stopped for a beat. “The men.” Leonardo didn’t look up from his sketch, but Crowley could see the knowing smirk. That was why he enjoyed the rich boy artist types so much - they always knew what they were about.

Crowley reached in for the bottle to refill his wine glass, but Leonardo’s hand shot out. “Allow me,” he said, and Crowley did just that. Their hands brushed in the exchange as he recoiled, and Crowley noticed it like a static shock. It may as well have stung the same. He watched the drink fill the glass, and made a mental note that da Vinci was a heavy-handed pourer.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw him. That wretched angel and his equally beautiful palomino horse. He rode back into the city from wherever he had been performing miracles from the day. So the coup was last week.

“Anthony?”

Crowley hadn’t realized he was staring. Embarrassing. As he turned back to Leonardo he heard horse hooves stutter along the dirt path, and they continued at a slower pace. Aziraphale must have finally spotted him. An opportunity. He met Leonardo’s gaze and took the man’s right hand (the one without the pen in it) and kissed the back of it in the same manner as a prince from a twenty first century fairytale. The hooves galloped away toward the city.

Line, hook, and sinker.

* * *

Crowley stayed in a clay house identical to all the others in Florence, but in a more secluded area of the city. It was along one of the grimy streets one would expect a demon to live on.

Da Vinci had let him leave with a couple bottles of wine, and the first already sat empty on the wooden table, the second was in his right hand with the cork popped off. When Crowley first heard the rap on the door he thought it was a figment of his drunken stupor. When he heard it the second time, he knew it was not. He wasn’t expecting anybody. He thought of possible pranks to pull on whoever was on the other side. He could shapeshift into a snake - but just his head. He’d been dying to see somebody react to that. He could also just as well not answer the door, something he found very rewarding.

He was about to do the latter when he heard the voice:

“Hello? Crowley, are you there?”

Crowley’s heart fluttered, but he stifled it with a growl. He collected himself before he opened the door.

“Oh, good. You are home!” It was Aziraphale, looking cheery as ever and brandishing two more wine bottles in his folded arms.

“I’d hardly call it home,” Crowley muttered, “more like a summer condo.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale’s hopeful face and weighed his options. He knew he shouldn’t let him in for all of the obvious reasons, but to hell with it. No one was watching, and he  _ had  _ sort of baited the angel here with that little stunt with the artist earlier. Plus, he had long lost track of his wine intake. And he flat out wanted the indulgence of somebody’s company. He could be selfish, he was a demon. He couldn’t speak for Aziraphale, but that was his excuse. He opened the door.

Aziraphale was delighted by the invitation, and his body wiggled in an excited dance. Crowley faked a gag, but in reality he was endeared by it.

It wasn’t until Crowley closed the door behind them that Aziraphale noticed the wine bottle in his hand. “You’ve already been drinking,” he remarked.

“Yes,” Crowley confirmed. “Sorry, I don’t have any glasses-” a pair appeared before them. “Thank you.” He was about to pour them each a glass from the already opened bottle, but Aziraphale stopped him.

“I’ll pour from one of my own,” he said, giving a pointed side eye to Crowley’s to imply his disgust at drinking after him. “I’ll pour you a glass once you finish that one.”

Crowley scoffed. There was a plethora of things he could have said in response, but he didn’t speak any of them. Instead, on his next sip he wrapped his lips around the bottle suggestively and made sure there was an audible “pop” when he released it. Aziraphale merely shot him another glare.

“So,” Crowley droned, “I saw you out on the town today. Perform any good miracles?”

Aziraphale shrugged his shoulders. His glass was half gone already. “Nothing you could classify as a miracle, really.”

“Oh, don’t start being modest now,” Crowley interrupted. 

“I’m not!” he insisted. “It was just blessing a couple of infants.” 

Crowley grumbled, uninterested. He threw his head back and finished the last half of the wine bottle, then threw it at the wall. It shattered with a crash and Aziraphale flinched, then shot him a pointed look. He rolled his eyes, and with a snap of his fingers the glass disappeared. He picked up the second glass, and filled it from Aziraphale’s first bottle. When he looked up, the angel held out an empty glass for him to fill. He did fill it, but he also raised an eyebrow. “Did you just down that so I could-”

Another look.

“Oh, angel,” Crowley burst out into laughter and clapped him on the shoulder. “You surprise me every time I see you.” He paused to take a gulp. “Never change.”

“Well, what about you?” Aziraphale asked. He now had a look as if he were sitting upon a valuable piece of gossip.

“I’m sorry?”

“How was your day?” he asked. “I told you about mine. I also saw you out and about today, and you were getting on well with that artist on the other side of town from what I could tell.”

Crowley sputtered a bit, and wine dripped down his chin. He never took into account how upfront Aziraphale was. “What? You’re saying I can’t indulge every once in a while?”

“Moderation has never been one of your strong suits, Crowley,” Aziraphale said frankly. His words were slurred, but frank nonetheless.

Crowley smirked and looked at Aziraphale over his glass. From this angle, the angel could see his pupils over the edge of his black-lensed glasses, and they were just as coy as the rest of him. “What? Are you jealous?”

This time it was Aziraphale who scoffed. “I could cozy up to anybody I wanted, thank you very much.”

“Prove it,” Crowley shot back. “Kiss me.”

“I said ‘anybody I wanted.’”

“Oh,” Crowley feigned hurt, and held his free hand over his heart for dramatic effect, “you wound me, angel.” His glass was about one sip from empty. He reached for a refill, and sure enough Aziraphale was at his side. This was when Crowley got the idea for a certain trade, and his eyes lit up.

“How’s this?” he offered. “One kiss for one glass.” He had expected Aziraphale to turn red and maybe even spout out a string of fantastical frustrated sayings, but the angel did no such thing. Instead, he put down his glass, grabbed Crowley by the shirt collar and pulled him down for a kiss.

Crowley’s glass and the wine bottle shattered against the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i had so much fun writing this lol...i enjoy the free will im given too much
> 
> comments & kudos are appreciated! ♡
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/pendulumpelvis) / [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/culmetisms)


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